


Couch Surfing

by Lani



Series: roman holiday [4]
Category: Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot | They Call Me Jeeg (2015), Wolf (2013)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Porn with Feelings, a man's journey to self-discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26848504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lani/pseuds/Lani
Summary: Majid has to crash at Fabio's place but Fabio won't let that wreck his evening plans. Majid decides to make the best of the situation. Who is jealous? Nobody is jealous.
Relationships: Fabio Cannizzaro/Majid Zamari
Series: roman holiday [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1977745
Comments: 21
Kudos: 106





	Couch Surfing

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to [furiously](https://archiveofourown.org/users/furiously/pseuds/furiously) for beta-reading this piece at 3 AM!

The walls are thin. It’s a fucking dog kennel, of course the walls are thin. Majid lies on a ratty couch, the filth of decades seeped into the upholstery. There are some stains on the backrest that he’d rather not inspect up close. But it’s a couch. He isn’t really expecting much more of it. He is lucky enough, he supposes, that they let him crash here at all after his motel got shut down thanks to some electrical fire. It was all very short-notice. Too short-notice, some might say. Painfully inconvenient, even. This is some monkey’s paw kinda shit. He can crash here for the night, but he sure as hell isn’t going to get any sleep. Majid is on his back, stiff as a board, and stares at the ceiling. Next door, a bed frame creaks and groans under rhythmic duress. That’s what it sounds like from this side of the wall. Congratulations. 

Fabio groans and Majid’s stomach tightens. He doesn’t want to listen to this. He’d rather play fetch with the Rottweilers than listen to Fabio getting railed by some faceless nobody he picked up from the boardwalk. Why is he stuck playing voyeur to some sleazy one-night-stand his boss is having in the other room? Bad timing, for one. And perhaps a stroke of sadism. The smug look on Fabio’s face as he ushered the guy past Majid earlier was telling enough. ‘ _Not you_ ’, his cruelly smiling eyes taunted. ‘ _Not tonight._ ’

The second the door fell shut behind the pair, Majid’s entire nervous system locked into a hot grip of possessive rivalry. That is the last thing he wants to feel but it happens without his permission. What Majid and Fabio are doing, it’s bullshit. Just fooling around. A quick fuck here, a blowjob there. Two bodies that happen to enjoy each other’s warmth. Nothing else. Fabio is demonstrating that right now. Majid has no business staking any claims. He doesn’t want to. But ever since he saw Fabio with someone else, his mind has been churning tirelessly with aimless questions. Why _that_ guy? Does he know him? Who is he? No. Fucking mind games, that’s all this is. He isn’t going to play. Fabio can ramp up his porno affectations all he likes. The jealous animal living in his prefrontal cortex is whacked with a rolled up newspaper. Get back in your corner. 

Majid rolls over and pulls his jacket, now doubling as a blanket, over his head. It’s no use. The gasps and moans keep washing through the drywall and plywood, winding his insides tighter and tighter. Every time Majid builds up enough steam to propel himself off the couch and out the door, there is a soft, needy whimper from the other room that roots him in place. It’s like a damn dog whistle, that high-pitched, gut-piercing noise that only Fabio can make. It’s insane, and Majid dutifully chalks it up to sleep deprivation, but he wonders if Fabio does it on purpose. To keep him close by, to call him to attention, tell him to stay. Bullshit. He’s a bottom, not a psychic. 

Besides, Fabio is having a damn good time without him, by the sound of it. But oh, the sound of it… Fabio is vocal. He gasps, he grunts, he hisses and whines. He loves the performance of it. He is a show-off. The goal is to drive him past that point, when his acting fails him and his voice breaks with pleasure, when his whole filthy show shakes apart with honesty. _But he can’t fucking do that for you, can he?_

Majid drags his hand down his face. They are really working up a rhythm next door. Meanwhile he is stuck in limbo and he is watching, almost with bated breath, which way he will tip. His arousal doesn’t exactly sneak up on him. He can see it coming a mile away. Every time Fabio raises his voice for a grateful ‘ _yes!_ ’, Majid’s breath hitches in his throat. It’s muscle memory. Heat melts through his veins in time with his heartbeat. It drives into his skin like thin needles. He can only hear one voice, Fabio’s voice. Majid takes a dry eraser to the mental image and removes the undesired party from his mind. Instead he sees Fabio there, twisting in bed, a smile on his parted lips as he throws his head back. The scene is drenched in shadow, but Fabio is illuminated. His outline burns against the bedsheet as he lifts his hips, rolling them helplessly into the air. Majid imagines him too soft, probably. Fabio wouldn’t gnaw his lip like that, wouldn’t blush for him or let his eyelashes flutter like some ravaged virgin. He’s all teeth. He grins and he snarls. The fucker bites. But if he can’t have that, he’ll have the substitute however he damn well pleases. 

Majid rubs himself through his pants. He cups the growing bulge of his groin and slowly grinds into his palm. No rush. Fabio gasps a staggering moan through the wall and Majid tilts his head back to soak in the sound of it. There it is again, the edge of a laugh in his moan. That’s not submission he hears. Fabio knows exactly what he’s doing here, what noises he should make to draw the reins in tighter. He’s a cat toying with its prey. Actually, flip the script. Majid pictures him on top. Fabio’s knees on either side of him, his long fingers stroking down his neck, over his shoulders, and raking across his chest. All while he sits himself down in Majid’s lap, pins him to the couch with his weight. Majid has to fill in the blanks. There is no heat here except his own, so he plays pretend. His free hand slips under his shirt and he presses his nails into his clavicle. The burn on his skin mingles with the urgent friction he delivers to his crotch. He sighs.

“You like that?”

Majid’s eyes snap open. He swears he hears Fabio’s teasing words directly next to him, breathed onto the shell of his ear with malicious intent. Majid glances at the wall, stupidly, as if in fear that it has suddenly turned into glass. But Fabio isn’t talking to him. Fabio is in his room, contorting himself for some nobody. Majid clenches his jaw. He is perfectly isolated, shut out. That’s frustrating as shit but only until he realizes what freedoms come with that deal. Majid can take what he wants from this moment and he doesn’t have to give anything back. He drifts back into his fantasy while his fingers undo the button of his pants and pull down the zipper. It’s almost spiteful. Fabio is back with him, ethereal, hard to grasp, but his lean body bends over Majid with predatory precision. He can nearly feel that hot mouth on his neck, sucking and kissing until his throat is littered with bruises. _This_ Fabio wouldn’t think of diverting his attention. 

“Yeah,” Majid murmurs the answer to himself, quiet, almost soundless. “Yeah, I like it.” He shocks himself with his readiness, with the lengths he will go to in secret. His nails bite into his throat. He digs them in and pretends they are teeth. Next door, Fabio growls an obscenity. Majid can hear the smack of skin meeting skin. They’re picking up pace now, crescendoing towards a bland climax. Majid puts his hand to his mouth and coats his fingers with his tongue. Every little bit helps when he tugs his building erection out of the confines of his boxers. 

Majid doesn’t give a fuck what Fabio is doing on the other side of that wall. He is unhurried, lazily tossing his hand up and down his shaft. The mirage that’s keeping him company is patient, licking his lips in hunger. He imagines Fabio rocking into him, imagines bracketing his pale hips with both hands and fitting him onto his throbbing cock. He can almost hear the soft grunt, the melodious moan, that would reward him. If he focuses, he can imagine the weight of him. He can picture the look on his face, the rolling eyes, the smiling mouth. Fabio’s breathless voice would croon to him, a thick Roman dialect slurring his words together: “ _There’s a good boy. Very good._ ” 

A pang of excitement stabs into Majid’s lower spine and paralyzes him. He inhales sharply, heat burning in his cheeks. Okay, wherever that one came from, it’s doing its part. Majid’s hand between his legs becomes more insistent. He braces one foot against the far armrest and arches into his urgent touches. Pressure melts through his lower body and draws his skin taut over his muscles. Majid swallows a groan when he hears a new array of noises from the other room. Fabio’s gearing up for his finale, by the sound of it. Fake though it is, it does wonders for him. Majid hurries to roll up his shirt and bites down on the fabric to hold it up, out of the way. He doesn’t need to worry about being quiet but he appreciates the gag all the same. 

He lets his head tip back again. Through hooded eyes he sees the shape of his imaginary lover. Fabio’s lips tickle his ear as he fucks himself on Majid’s aching cock. Who knew he had such a vivid imagination? The fantasy unravels before his helpless gaze, every detail dredged up from the depths of his mind and displayed for his pleasure. Fabio’s voice burns itself into his brain: “ _You feel so fucking good. You’re loving this, aren’t you? Yeah, you are. Look how fucking filthy you are for me. Jerking off for me like this. I fucking own you. You know that, don’t you? I own you and your cock. Don’t stop,_ ” His voice twists into a whimper when Majid angles his wrist and tightens his grip. _“Ah, ah, yes. Yes, yes, Majid, fuck, yes. You’re- Oh! You’re so good. Screw everyone else. Nobody fucks like you. I need you. Don’t fucking stop.”_

Majid grits his teeth and rides out the new wave of pulsating heat that washes through his body. He’s drowning in it, sweating bullets. God, if Fabio really said this kinda shit to him he’d-- Okay, Romeo, pump the brakes. 

He shudders a gasp into the damp fabric in his mouth. His dark brows are furrowed in concentration. Just a little closer, come on. It’s gotten quiet around him. Majid cuts his eyes to the closed door in a sudden bout of paranoia. “ _Shh, look at me._ ” A ghostly hand directs his head back to stare at the ceiling. Except he can’t see the ceiling. He sees Fabio there, his long hair clinging to his skin, dark with sweat. _“There he is. Isn’t this much better?”_ He smiles at him like a fucking devil, far smoother than he ever could have in real life. Majid swears he sees a hot gleam in his eyes. “ _You’re gonna come for me now. Yes?_ ”

“Yes,” Majid grunts through his clenched teeth. Yes, yes, yes. The pressure builds and builds, until he finally reaches the precipice he’s been looking for. He feels a surge of painful tension, like an electrical shock to his system, as he fucks into his hand. The orgasm hits him hard and fast. Everything before his inner eye whites out. The scene he has crafted falls apart under the onslaught of searing pleasure. There is no room in his head for anything else. Majid shoots his load onto his naked stomach, still thrusting with measured movements to milk himself dry. When he finally collapses back onto the couch he realizes that he has been holding his breath for far too long. He sucks air into his lungs by the mouthful and listens to his pounding heart. His pulse is booming in his ears. The comedown is slow but short. 

Majid’s mind clears as if some kind of drug is finally washed out of his system. He looks down at the white mess on his torso like he just woke up to it. The aftermath of his masturbation threatens to drip onto the upholstery. What the fuck. What the actual hell is wrong with him? Has he completely lost his mind? --First things first. Majid makes a spirited grab for the box of tissues that is stashed on a low shelf next to him and gets to cleaning himself up. He wipes himself down and hurries to stuff his softening cock back into his pants. His breathing hasn’t had a chance to return to a normal pace yet but now he’s sitting upright which seems safer, less conspicuous. He really wants to wash his hands but he can’t risk rummaging for the water faucet outside. There is no noise at all coming from the other room now. Shit, did they kill each other or what? 

Majid gets up and tosses the used tissues away. Then his eyes fall on the bottle of hand sanitizer on the desk. It’s one of many Fabio’s got stashed around the place, nevermind the travel-sized bottle he carries around with himself. The guy has some issues. But Majid doesn’t feel like he’s in a position to make judgement calls right now. He squirts the gel into his open palm and rubs his hands together. The sharp medicinal scent is familiar, even a little comforting. The repetitive motions calm his raw mind. Okay. Back to the point: What the fuck?

He can’t help replaying the images before his inner eye. He hears the filthy litanies on loop. That shit wasn’t Fabio. That came from himself. He hasn’t even watched any pornos lately he can blame those lines on. Or how hot they made him feel. He doesn’t know what to do with this. It feels unsafe, like a secret he never wanted to learn. What can he do except cram it back into the box it has slithered out of without permission? Right. It’s a weird night. He is hopelessly exhausted. He doesn’t actually need to deal with any of this. 

Just when Majid pushes away from the desk, the door to Fabio’s room cracks open. The place that seemed so endlessly far away, so out of his reach, is suddenly real fucking close. Majid thinks about the thin walls. Sure enough, Fabio slinks out, a tacky purple house robe thrown on for decorum’s sake. Possibly. It’s open and clashes with his underwear. He takes two steps towards the desk before his brain catches up with his eyes and he realizes that Majid is blocking his path. 

“What are you doing there?” The puzzled look on Fabio’s face is cast in shadows by the small lamp that keeps flickering on the window sill. Then his lips twist into an amused little grin. “Didn’t keep you awake, did we?” 

“No.” Majid feels stiff, unnatural. His body is still humming with the echoes of his earlier exercise. To see Fabio half-naked, tousled hair and all, does nothing to help his frame of mind. “I always fall asleep during the boring parts.” 

That seems to hit its mark. Fabio’s brow furrows for a split-second, then he scoffs and shakes his head. “Well, you got me there. It was kinda boring.” He admits as he pushes forward. “I’ll consider it a palate cleanser.”

Majid shifts his weight, gets out of the way. He is oddly pleased to hear that verdict. He is smug, even. Boring. Good. _Wish you hadn’t wasted your time with that loser now, don’t you?_ he doesn’t say. But he thinks it with such intensity, it must show on his face anyway. 

“What’re you smirking about, eh?” Fabio reaches up to cup Majid’s cheek as if to inspect his mouth up close. He gives him a light pat. “You keep that up and I’ll-” 

He doesn’t get any farther than that. Majid’s lips are on his in a hard kiss, warm and urgent. He encircles his waist with one arm and presses against his body. There is no restraint. Majid all but crushes Fabio in his embrace. He can feel the strain he puts on him, the pressure. But the hand on his face doesn’t push him away. It stays exactly where it is. If anything, it pulls him closer. Nothing beats the real thing. 

Majid is running on autopilot. He feels himself nudging Fabio’s mouth apart with his tongue to deepen the kiss, to taste him regardless of where he’s been before. Fabio lets him. He twists his free hand into Majid’s shirt and breathes him in. Despite the fact that it hasn’t been ten minutes since his last orgasm, Majid finds that his body is quickly roused to the call. Warmth surges through his torso in slow waves and fans out into his limbs. Fabio feels temptingly solid. He could lean into him, easily, and find something to rest against. But instead, he opts to come up for air. Majid breaks from the kiss, allowing for a few centimeters between their mouths. He licks his lips, tries, and fails, not to look up.

Fabio is staring back at him, his fingers still possessively grabbing the front of Majid’s shirt. He looks almost a little unnerved, with his slack mouth and furrowed brow. His eyes are huge and strikingly bright. As Majid looks into them, he feels a prickling numbness sprawl through the back of his mind. To think that this man was in someone else’s arms mere moments ago is enough to throw him into tunnel vision. So much for not staking claims. 

“You’ll do what?” Majid barely recognizes his voice. He sounds as if he smoked ten packs of cigarettes in twenty minutes. He softens his grip on the other just so, just enough to allow him to stand on his own two feet again. Fabio finally regains some semblance of composure and releases Majid in return. He untangles himself and uselessly straightens out the collar of his robe. There is no answer. Fabio only steps around him, maybe a little shakily, and grabs his laptop off the desk. Then he wordlessly disappears back into the bedroom. 

Majid is left behind, swaying on his own. He briefly closes his eyes, if only to let the sheer stupidity of his actions wash over him in peace. At some point into the night, he lost the plot and he hasn’t regained it since. He trudges back to the couch, feeling a few degrees colder than before. He has to sleep, one way or the other. And this time he’ll keep his greedy hands to his goddamn self. Fucking hell.

Majid is in the process of bedding down when the door flies open yet again. Little known fact: a decrepit dog kennel in the dead of night gets about the same amount of traffic as the central station at noon. He lifts his head, ready to snap at whoever comes tumbling out next. It’s the guy, actually. Majid didn’t bother taking much note of him before. He’s broad, a bit stocky, and of a darker complexion. He is also mid-sentence into a defensive argument as he retreats to the exit. Fabio emerges soon after, merely to lean in the doorway. They talk in that Romanesco dialect they share. Majid can only make out that the visit is now concluded and Fabio’s lay is advised to hit the road. He watches the scene unfold in bewildered fascination. The front door falls shut with a metallic clang. Majid lifts his brows at Fabio who makes a show of acting as nonchalant as possible about it. 

“Trouble in paradise?” He can’t help the comment, apparently.

Fabio rolls his eyes and finally jerks his chin back towards the dark of his room. “It’s more comfortable than the couch. Come on.”

“Huh.”

“Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, okay.” Majid is on his feet in an instant, before he can fully wrap his head around what just transpired, before he can check himself. Fabio holds the door for him and Majid slips into the bedroom. Warmth envelopes him, and the smell of stale sex. But there is also Fabio’s scent, all around him, and Fabio’s hands on his back, gently pushing him towards the bed. Majid feels his lips on the nape of his neck.

Fuck the couch.


End file.
